


Sick Days

by HalfChance



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Decepticons and Autobots Living Together AU, F/F, Fluff, Implied Relationships, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Mentioned Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfChance/pseuds/HalfChance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly a chance for me to work on writing my favorite crack pairing. </p>
<p>Red Alert's sick and Strika's playing the comforting matriarch in the relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that I've been thinking over for a while, and this is also a crack pairing that I think I've had for quite a long time. And today, I felt the need to write it out.   
> The AU is just the Decepticons and Autobots together, most likely on a warship, possibly going against a common enemy. No slaves or prisoners or anything like that in this AU. So, yeah. That's how this goes.

It was pink.

Dribbling from her lips and into the waste receptacle, she stared down at her dinner from last night, wondering if she would be okay.

But of course she would be okay! There was only half processed edible grade energon in there, no energon from her veins, ruling out internal injury. There was enough processing chemical to show that it hadn’t been an inability to consume the energon that had her purging, but not too much to show that she was sparked (which of course she wasn’t, she hadn’t gotten with anyone for decacycles now).

But the aftertaste—

She purged again, this time just coughing as most of her past food was in the receptacle at this point.

Strika wandered in, her helm swinging around the corner and the rest of her bulk gracefully following. “You okay?”

Red Alert glared up at her, drool dribbling down her chin. “What do you think?”

Strika shrugged. “Same thing you think. You sick?”

“I don’t know.” She got onto unsteady pedes, shaking and fell, but at least she fell into Strika’s arms.

“Darling, please take it easy. You’re shaking and burning up.” Strika carried her from the washroom and into the berthroom connected to it. Setting Red Alert on the berth she moves away. “I’ll call for Ratchet, get him to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” She lays and stares at the ceiling. “I have work I have to do, you know. I’m working the mid-cycle shift with Knock Out. I’ll be the only one working, since that idiot won’t even pick up a needle for fear of ruining his paintjob.”

Strika hands the medic a datapad. “This is yours. Work on paperwork, I’ll get Oil Slick to cover for you.”

Turning to go, Strika halts when Red Alert calls out a rather gentle sounding “Hey. You. Come here.”

The general turns and stares at the tiny medic, who lays, bleary opticed and slowly venting, staring back at her.

Strika tromps her way across the room. “Lean down.” She puts one servo on either side of the Autobot and leans in until she's face to face with her. “Mask off.” Red Alert places her servo on the mask and pulls it away when the latches hiss with release. “Now kiss me.”

The general and the medic meet for a moment before parting on only slightly chaste and minor platonic terms. Red Alert sloppily shoves the mask back onto Strika’s face, who fixes it and stands.

“G’bye,” Red Alert mutters sleepily, optics beginning to shutter.

“I will return, darling.” Strika smiles behind her mask before slipping out the door.


End file.
